


The Burden of Pretty

by VirusInTheCity



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Homophobia, Trigger warning: child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 06:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VirusInTheCity/pseuds/VirusInTheCity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean learns that being pretty isn't what he thought it would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Burden of Pretty

**Author's Note:**

> This work was based off of this post on tumblr: http://bangingpatchouli.tumblr.com/post/44456540750/dean-and-the-burden-of-pretty-in-my-head-canon

Dean wasn’t really sure when the comments started making sense to him. He thinks it was when he turned fourteen; not on his birthday, obviously. He was too busy fighting monsters and keeping Sammy safe to worry about pesky words, and what they meant to him. He didn’t even really notice until his dad said something.

He was sitting in the motel room cleaning a sawed-off shotgun when his dad came into the room with all the grace and stealth of a former Marine turned hunter. Sammy was sleeping on one of the queen beds and had been for a couple hours. John Winchester was a stern man, and didn’t really like to show weakness, and certainly didn’t appreciate it when other did either. Dean was careful not to think certain things when his father was around; which was less and less frequently now that Sammy and he were getting older. John looked pretty upset about something, and Dean was clearly going to be the subject of his tirade. Dean nodded to the bed to hint that he impending ‘conversation’ be held quietly so that Sam could sleep. It had been a long day for him.

“Dean.” John hissed his displeasure. Eyeing the way Dean’s hands cleaned the trigger and barrel of the gun. Dean didn’t reply, simply stopping his movement and looking up at his dad, meeting his gaze, but not in defiance. John could always tell the difference between obstinateness and obedience.

“What are you doing, boy?” Dean felt it was fairly apparent, but answered anyway since he was asked a direct question by his leader.

“Cleaning my weapon, sir,” motioning to the gun he had laid out on the table.

“Good, glad to not catch you at reading again. Or any of that other girly shit you do.” Dean looked over to Sam. The day John came back from a hunt and found books all over the motel he freaked out and said that only chicks read books about love. They had been Sam’s books, he wanted to see if he liked them [he didn’t], but Dean had said they were his because he could tell John was pissed beyond reason. Dean had gotten struck for the first time that day, he was told to ‘man up’ and read about dead things, or creatures that could kill him and his little brother.

“Of course not, sir.” Dean had taken to reading the books anyway, as his little form of resistance, he just does it in secret now. Hides the books in the pouch where he keeps his underwear, his dad would never go there. He didn’t particularly like the writing, but who reads romance novels from the grocery store for the plot anyway? He just liked the fact that it didn’t matter what book he was reading, the plot was pretty much the same and so he didn’t have to always finish one, or even start at the beginning of the books either.

John seemed almost as lost in thought as Dean, but then he mumbled out: “As if you didn’t look enough like your mother... Had to go and be a little queer too. Gonna get the shit kicked outta him...” John looked up then with stern eyes, seeming to make a decision about his elder boy. Still young, but so pretty and naive; didn’t even notice the leers and calls that he got in the street. John noticed. He needed Dean to understand. The boy needed to toughen up, and John was going to do that for him. Make sure that his son didn’t take it up the ass.

“Come here, Dean.” Dean was skeptical to say the least. This is not where he saw the conversation going; in fact, he figured there would be more yelling. Dean got up anyway and walked the few feet to his father, looking ahead, but not making eye contact, just like he was taught. When he reached his father and was standing resolutely still John slapped him across the face with the back of his hand. John had not reigned in his strength to strike his child so Dean was sent sprawling, shocked and silent.

After the initial daze left him, Dean was not sure what to do. His dad had never hit him that hard before, nor seemingly unprompted. His eyes start to water and tears push at his eyes, threatening to roll down his soft cheeks without permission. John looked even more angry at the wetness in his son’s eyes and made a move to kick Dean. When the boy curled instinctually to protect his organs John stilled. Dean relaxed as his father returned to a resting position. Just as his arms fell away John kicked him, less forcefully than he could have.

Dean was confused and in pain. His cheek stung from the slap, and his ribs hurt from being kicked. He looked at his father, crying freely but silently; asking a question without words.

“Don’t be a little bitch, Dean get up.” John waited until his son rose from the ground to slap him again, but lighter, wanting him to remain standing. Dean recoiled, but kept his footing this time. He returned his gaze to his father, crying, cheek red and irritated; there was a small cut that had resulted when John’s wedding ring caught against Dean during the first slap. John looked at Dean hard and with no sympathy said: “crying is for the weak. Girls cry and children cry. You are neither, so I expect you to act like a man and stop weeping like a bitch this instant.”

Dean sniffled a bit but willed the tears to stop. Eyes still wet, and wet tracks still on his face but no new tears spilled over. If this is what his dad needed, then Dean will do as he was told. He looked his father in the eyes and nodded. He did not wipe his face; that would be admitting he had cried in the first place. John nodded back and slapped Dean again, hard, like the first time. Dean accepted the blow, but did not make a sound, nor did he cry. Nodding again John looked appeased with Dean’s resolve, but when he looked in Dean’s eyes he said:

“No son of mine is going to be a bitch. If I catch you so much as reading anything that isn’t about a hunt, I will teach you again. You already look like a bitch. Don’t act like one.” With that, John walked out of the room and back into the night. When his dad was gone Dean sat on the bed opposite Sammy and looked at his sleeping brother while he thought about what had transpired. In the wee hours of the morning Dean made a few creeds.

1\. He was never going to cry again.

2\. He would never let his interests be known. Only doing things he enjoys when he was alone. A rare occurrence in his life, but it wasn’t impossible.

3\. This was never going to happen to Sammy.

From that day on Dean swore to be a man for his father. Love women. Don’t read. No chick-flick moments. Dress like a boy. Don’t care. Eat meat. And most importantly, never cry. Chicks cry, and Dean was not one. His father just told him and made sure he understood. He wouldn’t forget his lesson, and Sammy was never going to have to get it. Not if he had anything to say about it.

Dean didn’t sleep that night, instead opting to wait up for his father and continue cleaning his guns. While he waited he came to realise that Sam probably wouldn’t have to worry about being a ‘little bitch’ because he looked like their dad. Dean knew he looked like his mother, but he was alway so happy about that; not anymore. Thinking back, he remembered people calling at him, but he always thought they were intended for others. Meant for the women that were surely nearby. But guys didn’t often call to women about their ‘cocksucker lips’ or how tight their asses were. Well, perhaps the second, but usually it’s about fucking pussy and whatnot. Dean could now recall countless words sent at him suggesting that he belongs on the street selling what he had. Now he knew what his father’s aim was, and although he didn’t think Sam would have to deal with the slurs and calls as much, he could tell that Sammy was shaping up to be a rather handsome young man. Perverts didn’t care how old he was, just that he was cute and had holes to fuck...

Dean felt sick. Not at the idea of sex between men, but someone hurting Sammy. Or someone trying to make him do something he didn’t want to.

Dean didn’t sleep at all for the next two days either. When he went to the store to get food for him and Sam he noticed the stares, noticed the words. They made him blush and flustered. He wanted to hurry home and feel his shame for reacting like a woman. He knew his father would have told him to stand and fight. That’s what men did, and that’s what Winchesters did. Dean didn’t want to fight these men, he wanted to shut down and shoot things. He takes out his frustration on monsters, killing everything his dad lets him. It’s good for both of them. Dean feels better about himself and his dad sees him as more of a man.

Sam doesn’t know. Sam never will.

On his fifteenth birthday Dean loses his virginity to some girl that he met earlier that night at a bar. She believed his fake ID that said he was eighteen. They had sex at her house and she kicked him out right afterwards. Dean fought tears in his car at how much it had sucked. He didn’t care about her, she didn’t care about him, and he was bad at it. When he returned to the motel his dad clapped him on the back and gave him a smile for the first time in just under a year. If that was what it took, then Dean would do it. He goes out and sleeps with as many woman as he can in the next few years; his dad is happy; Sam is safe; Dean is miserable. With each woman that he carelessly fucks he gets better but he also loses more and more of himself. It’s degrading to himself as well as the women. His dad doesn’t seem to care; but Sammy has been looking at him like he’s a bad person, but he’d rather have Sam look disappointed than look with pity.

After he turns eighteen for real, he realises that he can use his looks to help him work. People like talking to pretty people if they think they are interested in them. He doesn’t tell his father where he gets information anymore, and his father doesn’t ask. They have come to an understanding that as long as he only has women, it’s okay to look. He flirts shamelessly with women, and secretly with men. Never when his dad or Sammy are around.

When Sammy says that he wants to go to Stanford, Dean is upset to be left alone, but afraid that he won’t be able to protect him anymore. Who will be there to keep people from saying harsh words to his little brother? It’s not that he doesn’t think Sam can take it, but he doesn’t want to Sam to have to deal with it at all. Sammy goes to school anyway, and his father leaves him too. Lets him go off on his own, and it’s simultaneously the best and worst time of his life. He knows he can do what he wants now, but he still feels like his dad will show up at any moment to teach him again how to be a man.

When he gets back with Sam after John goes missing, it’s both relieving and distressing. There are so many things that he doesn’t understand about who he is or what he wants that eventually he breaks his rule, he cries when he talk to Sam. He has a chick-flick moment, but the most important rule was never broken: it never happened to Sammy.


End file.
